“Don’t be so high and mighty. We didn’t ask him either.”
“I would like to see a copy of that script for Down in the Glen,” fretted Hamish.
“Why?”
“There might be something in there. I don’t know.”
“When are they letting you out?”
“Tomorrow, I hope.”
“For the sake o’ decency, you should stay in longer. There’s half the village waiting to visit you and they’re all carrying gifts.”
“No, the sooner I get out of here, the better. My dog! Who’s looking after my dog?”
“Your dog’s waiting like everyone else. Angela Brodie’s looking after him.”
♦
By the time the last of the villagers had gone, Hamish felt quite weak and weepy. Their kindness was overwhelming. The room was crowded with presents of cake, jam, flowers, chocolates, and even two trout.
He decided that the best thing he could do was to find out where they were filming the next episode of Down in the Glen and go along and study everyone there. I hope you’re looking in the right direction, said his conscience. You’re so anxious to prove that it wasn’t one of the villagers that maybe you haven’t investigated your home turf enough.
The phone beside Hamish’s bed rang, jerking him out of his worried thoughts.
Jimmy Anderson’s voice came on the line. “Worse and worse, Hamish. Blair’s been suspended, pending an enquiry.”
“But that’s good news.”
“He’s been suspended because Miss Alice Patty has committed suicide by slashing her wrists. She left a note blaming police brutality. Patty’s lawyer said that by the time she got in to see her at police headquarters, Blair’s bullying had reduced the girl to a nervous wreck.”
“So are you in charge?”
“No. They’ve brought in a detective chief inspector from Inverness, Heather Meikle.”
“What’s she like?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. She arrives tomorrow.”
♦
The next day Freda drove to the hospital as soon as school classes were over. Hamish had phoned her and asked for a lift to the police station. He had said he was checking himself out of the hospital.
She wondered whether she should have done something like make him beef tea. Freda decided to urge him to go to bed and then she would minister to him. As she drove off, she noticed several Strathbane Television vans parked on the waterfront. She hoped nothing else horrible had happened.
When she arrived in Hamish’s room at the hospital, it was to find him dressed and sitting waiting for her. His bandages had been removed, but part of his fiery-red hair had been shaved off and a sticking plaster put over the wound.
As she drove off with him in the direction of Lochdubh, Freda said, “I think when we arrive, I should make you something to eat and then you should go straight to bed.”
“No, I’ll be all right. I’m sick of bed. I’ve been in bed for most of the day.”
“I still think you should rest. There are a lot of television vans on the waterfront at Lochdubh.”
“Anything happened?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Any press there?”
“No.”
Hamish’s interest quickened. “Maybe they’re using Lochdubh as a location for that soap. Where’s Elspeth?”
“I don’t know. Running around with that boyfriend of hers.”
“He’s not her boyfriend. He’s just a colleague.”
“That’s not what I heard,” lied Freda.
“You shouldn’t listen to village gossip. They always get it wrong.”
“Are you keen on Elspeth?”
“The only thing I am keen on is getting to the police station and finding out if police headquarters have any idea of who hit me,” said Hamish stiffly.
Freda began to wish she’d arranged some sort of welcome at the police station for him. All the villagers knew where the spare key was kept – in the gutter above the door. She could have placed a bowl of flowers on the kitchen table. She could have lit the stove.
When she drove up to the police station, she noticed the lights were on. “Someone’s there,” she said. “Should I call the police?”
“I am the police. It’s probably one of the villagers.”
He opened the kitchen door and walked in. Elspeth was sitting at the kitchen table. There was a bowl of flowers on the table and the stove was blazing away.
“I phoned the hospital and heard you were on your way,” said Elspeth. “There’s a casserole in the oven.”
Hamish turned to Freda, who was glaring at Elspeth. “Thanks very much for the lift, Freda.”
Although he was obviously waiting for her to go, Freda plumped herself down at the table opposite Elspeth and asked, “Any chance of a dram?”
“You sit down, Hamish,” said Elspeth. “I’ll get it.”
Freda began to wish she had left. There was an atmosphere between Hamish and Elspeth – an atmosphere which seemed to exclude her.
There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” said Freda. Matthew came in.
“Elspeth,” he said, “they’re going to be filming Down in the Glen here tomorrow. The director, Paul Gibson, is at the bar at the hotel. I thought we could see him together.”
“What about the producer?”
“There isn’t one. Gibson’s title is producer-director. It’s a way of cutting costs, I suppose.”
“Right. I’ll get my coat. I left it in the bedroom.”
“Thanks for everything, Elspeth,” said Hamish.
Freda brightened. With Elspeth gone, surely Hamish would invite her to have supper with him. But no sooner had Matthew and Elspeth left than there was another knock at the door.
“What now?” asked Hamish.
A severe-looking woman stood on the doorstep.
“Good evening, Constable,” she said. “I am Detective Chief Inspector Meikle.”
“Come in,” said Hamish. “Freda, do you mind? This is police business.”
Freda left in a bad temper. Perhaps if Hamish had shown any interest in her, she would not have bothered about him. But she regarded Elspeth as competition, and besides that, her friends had found Hamish attractive. Men are credited with having hunter instincts, but women have them as well, and all at once Freda was firmly determined to marry Hamish Macbeth.
♦
Heather Meikle took off her coat and handed it to Hamish. He hung it on a peg by the door.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
“Seems all right. What brings you?”
She sat down at the table in the seat vacated by Freda and clasped her hands in front of her.
Heather Meikle was a tall woman with a sallow face and short brown hair. She had a long thin nose and a thin mouth. She was dressed in a tailored suit and sensible shoes.
Her eyes were of an indeterminate colour and were now fixed on Hamish Macbeth with a piercing stare. “I discovered that a major murder enquiry had been turned over to a village policeman,” she said.
“I noticed there weren’t any other police around,” said Hamish cautiously.
“I may say, I have never heard of anything more ridiculous in my life. Proper investigations will resume tomorrow. I saw the news film of the villagers shouting and throwing things at Heppel. Any one of them could have committed murder from the looks of them.”
Hamish again spoke cautiously. “It is my opinion, ma’am, that not enough attention is being paid to the television people. John Heppel was an infuriating man. Very vain. He liked humiliating people. He was addicted to getting his face on television. They are filming Down in the Glen here tomorrow. It’s a good opportunity to talk to the director and the cast.”